


A Good Man

by Quipxotic



Series: The Spy and the Time Lord [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Death, Episode: s08e08 Mummy on the Orient Express, Ficlet, Friends to Enemies, Gen, MI6 Agents, Office, Pre-Episode: s12e01 Spyfall Part 1, Present Tense, Spoilers for Episode: s12e01-02 Spyfall, Texting, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quipxotic/pseuds/Quipxotic
Summary: It’s just another day at MI6, but somewhere in the universe the Doctor is facing a moment of crisis. Who else would he contact for reassurance but an old friend?
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan)
Series: The Spy and the Time Lord [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600243
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	A Good Man

“It’s just weird,” complains Jason from HR. “We’ve had so many vacancies lately, almost all from sudden deaths.”

The Master hums politely in acknowledgement. He isn’t really listening to the man sitting across from him in the MI6 canteen. He wants to eat alone, but this is one of the problems with the persona he’s selected. O is so nice, affable, and charming that everyone wants to talk to him. It’s by design, of course, to entice others to confide secrets they might not otherwise share; still, sometimes he would kill for a few moments of blissful silence.

And, come to think of it, he has.

“They’re all natural deaths too,” Jason sips his tea, “or accidents. They’ve been investigated to make sure they aren’t part of an attack by a foreign power.” 

That catches the Master’s attention and he looks up. He contemplates this as a means of starting a war, but quickly dismisses the idea. He needs this world intact for a few more years.

“They weren’t,” Jason assures him, misinterpreting his interest. “No connection to each other, just coincidences.” He lists them on his fingers. “Heart attacks, car accidents, flu, plane crashes, skiing accident, death by rare, venomous spider-” 

The Master smiles inwardly as he fondly remember the events leading up to that one. 

Jason shrugs and continues, “which sounds suspicious until you realize it happened in Australia. Drowning, brain aneurysm, rock climbing accident, sky diving accident - I mean, it’s a lot, even for the kind of lives the people who work here lead.”

The Master raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile quirking his lips.

Jason concedes his unspoken point. “The lives some people who work here lead. The two of us just work in an office.”

“Where the most dangerous things we face are paper cuts, stress, meetings, and carpal tunnel.”

“True.” Jason grins mischievously. “Let me guess, you think it’s all down to aliens?”

Definitely, the Master silently agrees, given he himself is responsible for most of the deaths. He makes a mental note to space his executions out a bit more in future. It would be ease enough to achieve while also sustaining his need for instant gratification; he does have a TARDIS at his disposal, after all. “Could be,” he says, “you never know.” 

“Come off it, O,” Jason laughs. “You’re a smart man with a lot of potential. You could go far here, if you’d just give up on this farcical obsession-” 

The Master nods politely but his mind begins to wander. This is a topic of conversation that has long lost any appeal. He doesn’t care what these people think of his merits, he knows his own value. 

He sighs in grateful relief when his phone buzzes. “Sorry,” he says, oozing regret he doesn’t feel as he gestures at the device, “I have to take this call.” He dispenses with the remainder of his lunch and hurries back to his office. 

It’s not a call but a series of texts that greet him when he glances back down at the phone. They’re all from the Doctor.

_“I have a question and I want you to answer it honestly.”_

_“Don’t worry about my feelings, just tell me what you truly think.”_

_“Am I a good man?”_

Several thoughts cross the Master’s mind simultaneously. 

Of all the ridiculous, emo nonsense, he thinks, but then reminds himself that this has been a recent trend in the Doctor’s lives. A reaction to the Time War, perhaps? But no, he remembers the Doctor’s fifth incarnation and the early parts of his eighth. Not that much of an aberration, then… 

A tiny thrill runs up his spine, as it does whenever the Doctor, _his Doctor_ , wavers in his belief in his inherent, righteous goodness. He searches for the words that would nurture this weakness, fan the embers into a raging fire, tip his oldest enemy into a chaos of self-doubt. If he could fracture the Doctor’s sense of self, the Master could help him put the pieces back together in a way that suited his own interests. This could be a chance to have his oldest friend back again…

It’s not time yet. This thought eventually drowns out the others, despite the regret the Master feels at letting them go. All of this has already happened and you know how it ends. Stick to the plan. Play the part. 

What would O say to this?

“Of course you’re a good man,” he types. “You’re one of the best men I’ve ever met. Why would you ever doubt that?”

_“I watched several people die today.”_

The Master shrugs. That was a regular occurrence throughout the Doctor’s lives, as he understood them.

_“But their deaths mattered less in the moment than the puzzle of why they died.”_

_“I studied them, like I would any other problem. So I could solve it. So I could win.”_

It seems like a logical reaction to the Master, but even he concedes he’s probably not an expert on the subject of empathy. The Master tilts his head. “And did you,” he types. “Solve the problem?”

_“Of course. I always do.”_

The Master smiles fondly. Not always, my dear. “And were lives saved as a result?”

There is no reply for several moments and then a simple, _“Yes.”_

“So they weren’t in vain. Did you cause the deaths?” 

_“No of course not.”_

"Oh you’ve killed your fair share, Doctor," he chuckles quietly, "but don’t let me interrupt your self-delusions.” The Master taps a finger to his lips before typing, “Would mourning for those who died at the time of their deaths have helped you solve the problem more quickly?”

_“Doubtful, but that’s not the point!”_

“Not finished yet, Doctor,” the Master reproves gently. “Are you grieving for them now?”

Silence. The Master grins. 

“You are, aren’t you? That’s why you’re worrying that you didn’t do so earlier. Why you’re questioning yourself. Doctor, in my experience, truly terrible people don’t spend a lot of time worrying about whether they’re good or not. The fact you’re asking the question is proof that you are a good person.” 

His grin widens as he suppresses a giggle, the silliness of the situation nearly overwhelming his self-control. The Master believes in what he does - the importance and necessity of it. The universe needs order, craves it even. And if he has to create a bit of chaos first before providing the strong leadership the universe needs, well that’s a bonus. But he knows that by many people’s standards, including the Doctor’s, he is not a good man. Still, here he is pretending to be one, while somewhere in the universe the Doctor is pretending he isn’t. The symmetry is delightful. 

_“I’ve said that to other people, but I’m not sure it really works that way. It feels too easy.”_

“Nothing easy about pain and loss,” the Master replies. He remembers something the Doctor once told him, a long time and many regenerations ago. It’s a risk, repeating it back, but what’s life without risk? “Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose.”

_“That sounds like something I’d say.”_

The Master holds his breath.

_“You’re far too young to be this wise. It’s slightly sickening.”_

“What can I say? I’m a prodigy.” The Master props his head up on one hand and texts with the other. “Feeling better?”

_“A bit. Thanks.”_

_“You always manage that somehow.”_

“Like I said, prodigy.” The Master notices a co-worker approaching his office. It’s Greg from IT, someone whose untimely death would improve the Master’s own mood considerably. “Sorry, have to go. I’ve an appointment with IT - a few old applications that refuse to terminate. Try not to worry too much, Doctor. You’ll do your best, you always do.”

He places the phone on his desk and gets up to greet Greg in the doorway. A few minutes later the device buzzes again. It’s not words but an image that appears. A tall, older man - grey hair and impressive eyebrows - standing on a rocky beach near the towers of a gleaming alien city. The sky behind him glows with pale pinks, purples, and yellows as the suns set. He is smiling, his expression sad but grateful.

Two emotions at once. Very confusing. Very Doctor.


End file.
